


Life and Regrets of Scrooge McDuck

by lydicalWind



Category: Disney Duck Universe, DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Multi, This is just angst ok
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-06 09:15:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12814386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lydicalWind/pseuds/lydicalWind
Summary: To be at the top, you can't stay still.And doing a lot of stuff leads to a lot of mistakes.Scrooge McDuck needs to learn that.(aka. Scrooge is my problematic fave but boy does he need a good redemption arc that doesn't destroy his characterization: the fic)





	1. Second thoughts are for losers-- sadly I am one too.

**Author's Note:**

> K SECOND TRY  
> I don't really know English ok this is just me writing duck fanfic because. Reasons
> 
> shoutout to the money bin discord bc y'all rule
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I don't own DuckTales. If I did this would be canon I mean c'mon

 

Scrooge McDuck sat at his desk, checking the daily mail as he always did, early in the morning. So early even the sun wasn’t up yet, but the old duck didn’t care. For him, it was the best time to work. No one else to bother him, just the money in its quiet, cold reassurance. 

He had been going at this all night. Quite honestly, it had been a while since he last tried to sleep properly for a whole night, his old bones so accustomed to the endless gruel of work that they screamed and whined whenever he tried to go and have a rest. It was as if, after all those years, they had forgotten how to stop and relax for a bit, while at the same time needing that same rest. After all, he wasn’t 30 anymore. He himself had seen so many years and eras that didn’t remember his true age, for he didn’t know what year it was anymore. The work was all that mattered. So his bones ached, but that ache was less of a nuisance and more of a quiet reassurance. He was here, and he was working, and that was more than enough.

 

With a sigh, he started sifting through a number of bills and deposit receipts, checking if the losses were smaller than last month, writing everything in a small notebook to make sure his numbers were correct. The work was complicated, to say the least-- a special code was needed, just in case someone tried to steal his records and leak them to his competitors. Even a small change in his deals could mean disaster if such information reached the wrong hands. And so Scrooge did it all on his own. Accountants would only make the system go slower and could make mistakes. He needed to be complete and utterly alone. Which he was.

 

It was the main reason Scrooge McDuck could work for hours on end without any loved one checking in on him and making sure he was alright— he had no such loved ones to speak of. He barely had any employees. All he needed, after all, was himself and his money. Just as it was in the days of his youth. This was what he was thinking of while counting his money and checking his letters.

 

It was what he was always thinking about.

 

His mail wasn’t exactly what he would call interesting, quite the contrary actually. There were always letters to invite him to this and that celebration, to discuss assets, Glomgold’s fake ransom notes, De Spell’s constant threats, petitions to donate to many different charities (when will they learn he was  _ not _ going to donate his precious money?? Ever? Were they really so deluded?) and an endless stream of such things. It was a hassle to go through all that, and if he were a usual billionaire, he might’ve asked someone else to do it for him-- but he was Scrooge McDuck. He didn’t relegate the important stuff, as exhausting as it was. What kind of message would that send to his (few) employees? He, after all, valued hard work over any and all other ways to make money. “Get Rich Quick” schemes? Pah!

 

And so he was doing this. Checking through many, many letters, and boxes, and--

 

It was then that he saw it. A seemingly unassuming envelope, of faded yellow paper, with his name and address painstakingly written in blue ink. 

 

It was immediately clear this letter wasn’t the kind he used to receive, made from cheap paper and printed in such a way it told you there were millions of others made there as well. It wasn’t even like the fancy envelopes he used to get from time to time, from important millionaires or billionaires who wanted to make their acquaintance for whatever reason. This didn’t look official, nor overly exaggerated. This was simple. Understated. Thoughtful.

 

And he knew exactly who sent it. 

 

The envelope threw him back, years and years in the past. Of endless hours teaching his sister to write, when he barely could himself. A childish scrawl, trying so hard to emulate the delicate and yet assured handwriting of their father, and utterly failing, but the intention was there. Now, the hand was more experienced, but just as unsteady. Age had creeped in, and it showed. Scrooge shivered. His own old self was screaming at him. 

 

With trembling hands, Scrooge opened the envelope. Inside, the paper was just like the envelope. Cheap, yes, but almost hand-pressed, the kind you can’t buy in a stationery shop. The writing inside was done by the same person who wrote the envelope. 

 

Scrooge wanted to get rid of it now. Why even read it? He’d only avoided reading a letter once, and he hasn’t regretted it. Maybe this was the same. Maybe his ridiculous relatives decided he was so powerful he could save them all from their own idiocy. Ha! As if!

 

…  _ Scroogey, you’re stalling,  _ said an annoying voice in the back of his head, that sounded quite a lot like his… like the person who wrote the letter. He hated it, but it was true. He  _ was _ stalling. But it wasn’t at all because he was afraid. He just thought it was pointless. 

 

With a frustrated sigh, he decided to finally read the blasted letter and get it over with. Ignoring all the internal screams, he read.

 

_ Dear Scrooge, _

 

_ Yes, you are still dear to me, despite everything, but I’m writing for serious reasons.  _

_ I’m sure you don’t know, but when you so rudely kicked us out of your money bin and your life, my brother in law Quackmore had just started treatment to heal his lungs after that nasty smoke accident a few years ago. _

_  
_ _ As of yesterday, that doesn’t matter anymore. _

 

_ You probably don’t watch the news, but if you did, you probably heard of the car crash that happened near Duckerspring Avenue, exploding with a couple inside. Yes, they were Hortense and Quackmore.  _

_ She’d probably stab me with a spoon if I invite you to her funeral after what you did, but I hate hating you, Scrooge. This is the last chance I’m giving you. If it doesn’t work, well… It won’t. I won’t resent you for it. (much.) _

 

_ After all, we both have changed. I don’t know yet if it’s a good thing. _

_ Please, if nothing else will move you, just do it for the kids. Donald and Della have been inconsolable since they discovered the truth. They’re twelve, old enough to understand what it means to be orphans. If seeing your sister won’t move your heart, at least go and remind the ducklings that they still have family they can count on. That they’re not alone. Ludwig and I try our best to cheer them up, but they know all our tricks.  _

 

_ You’d love them. Della is such a sweetheart, always trying to see the best of any situation. And Donald is really temperamental, but also fiercely protective of those he loves. Sometimes, he reminds me of you. _

 

_ I want to believe you still have some of the good Scrooge I remember from my childhood somewhere under all that… pride you boast every day. _

_ Just… try and remember. I miss the sweet lad from Glasgow you once were. I miss my brother. _

 

_ Your sister, _

_ Matilda _

 

The letter trembled in his hand. The words somehow throwing him into his memories, of that one day so many years ago, when he had heard similar, heartbreaking news. He didn’t expect to read those words again so soon. He didn’t think the world would take family from him so quickly. 

Around him, the air had gone still, the room quiet in a way that was less from absence of noise than it was from absence of life. He trembled at the feeling. He’d been running so fast, trying to accomplish so much, that he had completely forgotten the sacrifices he’d had to make on the way to wealth and success. 

 

He remembered the last day he saw his family properly. How he kicked them all out without showing any sign of family love. Hardened by his own greed. Psh. Greed.

 

Scrooge crumpled the letter, invaded by sudden resentment. They called it greed, he called it ambition. Besides, what’s done is done— his sister is dead, and so is his brother-in-law, and that’s that. There’s no way it’s gonna affect him in any way. He was Scrooge McDuck, for Pete’s sake! He was the richest duck in the world!! Tougher than the toughies, smarter than the smarties! Who needs a family when you’re the literal embodiment of success? 

 

Besides, he was sure Hortense never actually believed in him. Not the way Poppa did. And Poppa was gone anyway, so it’s not like it mattered. Who needs them!? Freeloaders, the lot of them.

 

They’re better off dead.

His own mind recoiled at the idea, and Scrooge sighed.

 

There was no way he’d go and face Matilda. Or those children. He didn’t have the time.

  
(He didn’t have the strength.)

 

Besides, he was fairly sure he wouldn’t be accepted in the funeral. They only sent him the card out of politeness.

 

(They hated him. This wasn’t an olive branch.  _ It wasn’t. _ )

 

Scrooge threw the letter and card in the trash, and kept working. Yelled a bit at his secretary. Never uttered a  word about what was written inside, and focused on the numbers. The only thing that would always make sense.

  
(There were tears falling from his eyes, down his beak. The humidity in the room was too high, again.)

  
  
  


He didn’t hear anything else from his… family, in months. Not a phone call, nor a visit, nothing. So far, it was as if he didn’t exist, which suited him just fine. He couldn’t even fathom the idea of his sister deceased, and it was already true. Why should he be trapped further by the ghosts of his past? It would only dampen an effective year, with so many wins it was insane. 

 

Sometimes, though, the thoughts would creep in. Hortense had twins. He had seen them, holding each other’s hand tightly, as if they were one entity. Donald and Della. He remembered being so excited when they hatched. His first successors. A niece and a nephew. Where were they now? Maybe with Matilda. She would be a good mother. Scrooge never understood why she had waited so long to fall in love with someone. He’d always imagined her with a bunch of ducklings, all well fed and impeccably dressed, calling her mum with their soft voices, soft like their mother. Soft like Downy McDuck’s had been. Their Momma.

 

Out of the three siblings, Matilda resembled their mother the most, but also had the serenity of character Poppa always showed and Scrooge always envied. Surely the children would be fine with her and Ludwig, right? There was nothing to be concerned about. 

 

Still, those thoughts creeped in constantly, at night, when he was sure no one looked at him with judgmental eyes. Not even his own. Even so, Scrooge hated even remembering they existed. Because they reminded him of his (selfish, broken, almost petrified) heart, and everything that entailed. 

 

Sometimes, he hated how weak he truly was. 

 

Today was one of these days.

 

He woke up feeling uneasy, and the whole morning was off-kilter to him. He had no idea what it meant, as he was just working like any other day, but he couldn’t help it. Poppa would say he was feeling so many things because of his ‘brilliant intuition’ or something of the sort, but truth be told, Scrooge didn’t think it was that brilliant to lose an entire day of important business just because of some intuition that barely worked beyond making money and finding good deals. And so he shook himself off, convinced himself it was just his feathers going the wrong way when he was sleeping, and went on with his day.

 

It was a few hours later, when he was deep in paperwork, that Scrooge allowed himself to feel the uneasiness again. This time, it was harder to just shake it away, and felt it deep in his bones. Something was going to happen, he knew. It was an unmistakable dread, the kind that preceded an earth-shattering disaster, like that one time when an avalanche almost drowned him in cold snow and he only managed to save himself by listening to that dread. And yet, it was mixed with something else.

 

Still, it wouldn’t do to focus on such a ridiculous train of thought.

 

With a grunt, Scrooge went back to his work, sending a message to his secretary that if anyone wanted to disturb him, they’d meet the end of his cane in the most painful way. 

 

Poppa would have laughed.

 

(He’d been thinking about Poppa more often these months than in the last 30 years)

 

Shaking his head, Scrooge turned to the news of the day, moving his wings quickly in an effort to find whatever might distract him from his own thoughts.

The newspaper boasted something about Flintheart Glomgold being 16 cents away from becoming the richest duck in the world, a clear taunt to Scrooge’s title, just as he’d been doing ever since he joined the billionaire’s sphere with his shoddy businesses and his questionable proceedings. Scrooge scoffed. He hated that someone who clearly didn’t really care about hard work and tenacity could make such a fortune just by being unethical, and also couldn’t stomach how Glomgold, with his endless obsession with amassing more and more money, made him feel like a sentimental idiot. Glomgold had no family, no connections, as alone in the world as Scrooge always dreamed of being. And at the same time, that very same idea filled him with dread. That dread made him work even harder, make even more money, until he was satisfied. Until Glomgold’s smug beak disappeared from his nightmares. 

 

Scrooge grimaced. It wasn’t like him to be so introspective.

 

It was then that one of his (few) servants decided to knock at his door.

 

“I already said I’m busy!”, yelled Scrooge, back into old habits, “what on Earth is so important that you must disobey my orders!?” Even as he was screaming in fury, Scrooge still stood up from his desk and walked to open the door, where, polite and pristine as always, stood his butler, Auguste Duckworth. 

  
“My apologies, sir,” Duckworth bowed, his voice as steady as always, but his brow slightly furrowed as only hint of what was to come, “but I’m afraid this is incredibly important. Mrs. Elvira Duck is waiting outside, and she has assured me the situation was truly urgent and delicate.”

 

“Elvira?” Scrooge asked, blinking confused. It wasn’t like Mrs. Duck to visit him, not without announcing herself first through a letter or some hint of the sort. She was, after all, an old-fashioned woman, and Scrooge respected that kind of stubborn politeness. Even more so, after Quackmore and Hortense’s death he had no true reason to talk to his departed sister’s mother-in-law. “What does she want? Did she give you any details?” He continued. Duckworth nodded, his expression turning more concerned by the second. Scrooge felt more and more dread.

“I know the reason, but Mrs. Duck said, and I agree, that you must see it with your own eyes, otherwise you might not fully understand.” This did nothing but further worry the old duck, who followed the butler to the main entrance of the bin, brimming with curiosity and a bit of anxiety.

 

The newly built city of Duckburg greeted him, all the way down from Killmotor Hill. Scrooge would have taken a moment to admire the bustle of a growing city, a city he himself had helped build, but there were far more pressing issues at hand.

 

Namely, the truly unusual sight of Elvira Duck with disheveled head feathers, wrinkly clothes and bags under her eyes. Never in the many years he had known her, had Scrooge seen Elvira in such a sorry state. This worried him further, even as he tried to hide it.

 

“Elvira,” Scrooge nodded as greeting, while Duckworth bowed slightly, “ye look… well, quite terrible.” Had Quackmore’s death really affected her so much? The clothes looked clean, though, and he had seen the effects of true, paralyzing grief. This wasn’t it. This was worry.

 

Elvira Duck fidgeted, as if she was already regretting what she was going to say. Scrooge didn’t pressure her. He didn’t want to unleash the anger of the woman. Finally, after what seemed like hours, she spoke.

 

“You must know of what happened to… To Quackmore and Hortense,” she mused, and Scrooge nodded. So his instinct had been right after all. “Their kids, Donald and Della…”

 

Scrooge nodded again, this time slower. he had been thinking of them. The ducklings had been on his mind for a reason, it seemed. “I suppose arrangements have been made for them.”

 

Elvira shook her head, sadness painting her face. “Matilda and Ludwig offered, but I couldn’t let them take the kids with them to Scotland. I know it’s where your family comes from, but Europe isn’t safe lately.” 

 

On this, Scrooge had to agree. His businesses in Europe were suffering due to all this German issue. Even if Dismal Downs was far away from many conflicts, food and comfort would still be at a minimum if any of the stupid leaders of such countries decided to go on to a full-blown war. The lad could be called upon to serve the country, now that conscription was legal again. It would just be a huge danger for the kids. This, he understood. 

 

“Are they staying with ye, then? The United States is still away from the conflict, if ye want tah keep them safe.”

 

Elvira shook her head. “I tried. I promise I did. I took them in as I used to do during the summers, but the farm isn’t giving me enough to feed all of us. I need to pay everyone their salaries, and the children are too young to work for their food. Daphne has a child too, and Eider has two with one more on the way. These children need to be looked after. You can just…”

 

Scrooge had to stop her there. “Ye want me to take care of them? Me? Elvira, if Ah was the kind of man who could take care of children, I would have some of me own already!” Nevermind that the only person he would be willing to have children with had been gone for literally years,  his point still stands. He’s absolutely unfit to take care of anyone. Even if Elvira Duck herself asks him to. He barely takes care of himself! How could he even start if he had to ensure the safety of two children?

 

However, Elvira was relentless. “You’re the only one who can. No one else has enough resources. I just want them to live comfortably-- it’s the least they deserve after everything that’s happened.” Her eyes were fiery even if her whole appearance was haggard, and Scrooge had to admit, Elvira was the only person in the world who could out-stubborn him. 

 

(Except perhaps… but she didn’t count.)

 

“... Ye will still come over as often as ye can,” he grumbled, realizing he was defeated. Elvira looked at him, surprised. “I won’t do this alone.”

 

“Oh, of that I’m sure,” she reassured Scrooge, now that her worries were abashed, “I promise you, I would never stop visiting the poor dears. They do deserve a grandma, now that the world has robbed them their parents.” This last part was said with understandable sadness, and Scrooge merely kept his beak shut as a way to convey his sympathies without being too mushy for either of them. “I will bring them here next week, so you have time to prepare. Please, don’t be too harsh with them.”

 

Scrooge nodded, although he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to keep that promise. He had been honest; he had no idea of how to behave around children. He barely managed to be one himself, and that had to stop when he turned ten. His sisters grew up while he was traveling the world, so he couldn’t witness every milestone or anything like that. Children were a terrifying concept to him.

 

Nevermind the cost! Thank goodness they were old enough, so clothes would fit them for a while, and they probably didn’t need any special cutlery. Perhaps they had some things from their old house that were still useful, and they could just eat what he ate. But things would get more stressful the longer the ducklings stayed with him. 

 

“Duckworth!” Scrooge called his butler. “Make sure the kids have everything they need, prepare a room for them and… Get more groceries. They need to be properly fed.”

  
Duckworth nodded, and bowed, leaving Scrooge with Elvira outside the bin. 

 

“When will they come?” Scrooge asks, suddenly weary. Elvira, understanding as always, looks at Scrooge with a wistful smile.

 

“As soon as everything’s done here. And you know, you can just call me. I do have a phone installed in the barn, young man.” 

 

Scrooge barked a laugh, surprised. Of course Elvira would worry about that. “I do know that. Don’t worry, yer gonna get tired of me makin’ calls left an’ right when the kids need help.”

 

Elvira smiled and said her goodbyes, leaving Scrooge to enter the bin on his own. And although he had directed Duckworth to do all the planning, he couldn’t help but go through his mind as he walked towards the elevator, thinking of the myriads of things the children would need. Even if he tried to convince himself that the money spent would be a needless waste, the truth was that he was fully ready to cover it all. It scared him, sure, but Scrooge McDuck wasn’t someone who backed down easily, if ever. The children needed him, so there he’d be.

 

Something told him it was going to be both a long time and not quite enough. He didn’t exactly believe it.


	2. my heart is off limits, my voice is not for you to hear.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donald and Della get the news. Della tries. Donald doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was going to write scrooge being all unsure around kids but then donald was like lol no and hijacked the entire chapter. what even
> 
> anyway i got a beta??? that's a thing. thank u [neru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oholymother/pseuds/oholymother)  
> also as always i don't own the duckverse and i never will unless i have like direct blood from walt disney but yeah. not gonna happen
> 
> my tumblr is [here](https://kailydica.tumblr.com) so ye, i reblog a lot of duck stuff

Donald Duck hated one thing more than anything, and that was change. The last few months had been both infuriating and terribly, terribly lonely. So if he’d acted ‘tetchier than usual’ when Grandma told him and Della that they were going to live with that idiot Uncle Scrooge, that was not his fault at all. He just wanted things to stay calm and quiet for once. Was that too much to ask for?

 

Apparently, yes. 

 

He felt like in one of those old novels Ma used to read to them when they were younger, about wealthy girls in India who lose their parents and have to go live with a rich, angry uncle. Except he and Della had never gone to India, just to Scotland, and the rich, angry uncle they had to live with had no chance of ever becoming a good duck. He knew it. Della tried to be more optimistic, but they both had heard Ma’s stories about the greedy and miserable Scrooge McDuck, once the pride of their clan, now the most hated survivor of it. There was no way a guy like that, who hurt Ma, Pa and even Aunt Matilda (who is that evil? Aunt Matilda is the best!!) could ever have a redemption arc or whatever Della calls those things where the bad guy becomes good.

 

And yet, here they were. Grandma Duck was amazing, always cooked the most delicious things, but Donald knew she was having trouble. A farm is a huge place, with many people who need to be paid, and Donald and Della were a bit of a nuisance, not that Grandma would ever call them that. In her eyes, they were her darling ducklings, but family love was one thing. Economy was quite another.

 

Something told Donald that Ma wouldn’t approve of such a concept. Sounded too much like old Scrooge, she’d say. But he was just being practical, not cruel.

 

“I bet he’s actually nicer than we think,” said Della, her usual carefree demeanor a bit damped. Donald scoffed, dismissing his sister’s feeble attempt at optimism.

 

“He didn’t go to Ma and Pa’s funeral,” he snapped, feeling like that was more than enough proof of his uncle’s character. “I didn’t even know him before this. Ma hated him.”

 

Della sighed. Sometimes Donald was too stubborn. “Pa always said Ma should have given Uncle Scrooge another chance. Maybe we are that chance, Donnie.”

 

“Old people don’t change, Dells. I’m sure he’s always cranky, always worried about his money, and never even considers sending a damn letter to his family.” Donald kicked one of his hats, looking forlornly at the sad state of the room he and Della had stayed in for the few months they spent with Grandma. Now it was filled with boxes, chests and two small suitcases, one for each, with what they deemed their most important possessions and a change of clothes. Everything else would be in a moving van behind Scrooge's car, so the whole ordeal would be done and over with by supper. 

 

Della gasped at the words of his brother. "Language, Donnie!" She exclaimed, and then sat on her bed. "I know it seems super terrible right now, but things will get better, I promise." Donald scoffed once more. Frustrated, Della thought of an idea to make her stubborn twin agree with her for once. "Fine, okay.  He's gonna be terrible, and angry, and will only care about his money. But just because Uncle Scrooge could be a grumpy old duck doesn't mean we have to become grumpy too! It's going to be a huge mansion, and Uncle Scrooge won't be seeing  us often. I'd be surprised if he actually goes to eat dinner with us once in the whole month." Della saw that Donald had stopped, clearly considering what she was saying, and continued, "A huge mansion just for us. Even if he's a skinflint, he has to keep appearances, buy us food and good clothes, so we'll be okay."    
  


Donald twisted his beak slightly, thinking. What Della was suggesting wasn't that far off-- after all, he knew the world their uncle must be living in had to be different from what they knew. Uncle Scrooge was constantly in the cover of newspapers everywhere, and they talked about him on the radio like he was a very important person. It was very possible that now they'd be famous, too, and their appearances would tell people whether their uncle was a good or bad duck. And that would change his business.   
  


Della was a  _ genius _ .   
  


"We have each other." Donald whispered, feeling the truth of those words in his very bones. Whatever may happen, he was going to have Della by his side. They hatched together, they would stay together no matter what. Together, nothing would stay in their way. "Even if Scrooge ends up being terrible, he won't be so bad if we have each other." Della nodded eagerly, happy to see her brother had  _ some _ optimism going on for him.    
  


"Yes! And I promise, together or not at all. Like the Three Musketeers!" And here Della took a baseball bat of Donald's and started swinging it around, acting as if it was a sword, "except we're, well, two. But that doesn't matter!" Donald laughed at his twin's antics. Della always knew how to cheer him up.    
  


"Whatever you say, sis. Now c'mon, we have to keep packing all this stuff." 

 

Della stuck her tongue out at him. “You’re only acting like the big brother because you secretly  _ like  _ the idea of us going to live with a rich uncle. Even if he’s a skinflint.” She took out an old dusty trunk, opening it up and haphazardly throwing several items of clothing in it.

 

“Can you blame me?” Donald frowned, trying to both hide a smile and keep Della from throwing everything around. “The best thing of us leaving is that Gladstone won’t follow us. Ha!” He laughed, even though he got a stray t-shirt on top of his head, “just imagine! For once I’m luckier than Gladstone Gander!”

 

“You just said Uncle Scrooge is cranky, greedy and doesn’t care about family. How is that luckier than getting to be in the farm with Grandma?” Della asked, looking at Donald like he grew a second head. But her brother was relentless, and kept laughing merrily, folding the clothes already in the trunk to make sure the space was efficiently used. Della snorted. “C’mon, you big nerd. You can tell me.”

 

“ _ Because _ , Dumbella, Uncle Scrooge may be cranky, and greedy and uncaring, but he still won’t take Gladstone with him. That’s more than enough luck in my book.” 

 

“Don’t call me Dumbella!” Della shrieked, and threw herself on top of Donald, who started giggling hysterically, as Della tickled him.” “You know I hate it!”   
  
“If--- pfaahahah-- if you hate it so much, why are you laughing?!” Donald wheezed, trying to get Della off of him. “You’ll always be Dumbella, Dumbella.”

 

“Noooo!!!!”

 

Their laughs echoed through the walls and down the hall, but no one had the heart to make them stop. For once, they’d be allowed to laugh as heartily as they wanted.

 

***

 

The next day, tiny Gus Goose woke them up with the news of their grandma calling them down to breakfast. As fast as they could, Donald and Della got ready, made sure everything was properly packed, and went downstairs.

 

Of course, Gus failed to inform the kids that Grandma wasn’t the only one waiting for them, as he only thought of the food he’d be eating soon. As it was, the kids were completely unprepared for what was their second meeting with one Scrooge McDuck.

 

The children looked, astonished, as the old duck they had always seen in the newspaper, hailed as the great business pioneer that made Duckburg the bustling metropolis that it was becoming now, arrived right in front of them. Somehow his presence seemed both larger than life and more realistic than they had thought it’d be, and Donald thought of how different Scrooge McDuck seemed, compared to the duck they had seen years ago. Back then, he had been pure rage, an unstoppable force of nature that even Ma couldn’t compete against. Now, however, he seemed almost… subdued. Anxious, even. He was fiddling with his cane constantly, as if expecting something bad to happen. Seeing their all-powerful uncle so out of his depth was something Donald didn’t know he needed. Of course Scrooge wasn’t used to children. The old coot (sorry, Grandma) never had any children. He wasn’t even married, didn’t seem like he ever loved someone. Only money.

  
Of-freaking-course he was unsure. 

 

Gruff, Scrooge approached Grandma. “Elvira,” he greeted, and Donald was surprised by the politeness of his tone. While still being his harsh self, he was somehow nice. He could have been rude and, to be honest, Donald expected him to, but he didn’t. 

 

“Scrooge,” Grandma greeted him warmly. Della lit up, and Donald groaned inwardly. Of course Grandma was going to be kind. Scrooge smiled, tight but genuine. “Thank you so much for this. I’m sure the children will be thankful in time.”

 

Both Scrooge and Donald scoffed, half hiding a laugh. Neither believed a word she said, thinking pretty much the same thing:  _ that’ll be the day _ . Scrooge looked at Donald and smirked, almost as if they shared a secret. Donald didn’t know how to interpret that.

  
“I’m sure,” said Scrooge, still wearing that smirk, “that sooner or later they’ll tell me their opinions of the arrangement.”

 

While Donald was very determined to tell his uncle if he was being a horrible guardian, he was still surprised by how defeated yet proud the old duck seemed. It was as if he had assumed his nephew and niece weren’t going to like him ever, and acted as if there was nothing wrong (even though being hated by your only surviving family --other than Aunt Matilda--  _ had  _ to be an unpleasant thing to experience), as if he had been himself for so long that any compromise to change that was just a waste of time. Like someone who knew they were ugly yet didn’t care. Was it his wealth? Or just a ridiculously thick skin that gave him that sad confidence? 

 

For some reason, Donald didn’t want to know.

 

It was then that Scrooge decided to look at both Donald and Della with more attention. “I’m sure ye kids already know this, but it’s been a while since I’ve seen either of you, so ye’ll have to forgive me.” At this, Donald blushed deep red in embarrassment. He was a little kid! And the scary old duck had made Ma angry! But at least Scrooge didn’t seem mad. “As both of you already know, I’m your mother’s older brother, your uncle. Scrooge McDuck.”

 

That seemed unnecessary, since as Scrooge said, they both already knew who his uncle was, but was still good to get that fresh start. Or something. And so both Donald and Della nodded slowly. The lack of response made Scrooge look highly uncomfortable.

 

“Ah… yes.” He coughed, and took two of the trunks the twins had filled with what they could pack. Said twins could only look in bewilderment as a very  _ very _ old man took such heavy luggage as if it was nothing. “Well, you can say your goodbyes to yer grandma, though Ah promise you’ll see her again real soon. ‘S not like I wanna take some children away from their family, after all.”

 

Donald did just that. He was going to show his uncle he can’t just go and change everything with a visit and an offer of living in his mansion. Della went as well, and they both hugged their grandma tightly. 

 

Elvira patted them on the head, and hugged them back just as fiercely. “You be good to your Uncle Scrooge. He’s really a warm duck beneath that gruff exterior.”

 

Neither child said anything, and once they released their grandma and made sure they had everything they needed, they left the farm for what they knew wasn’t the last time, but felt oddly like it.

 

***

 

The car Scrooge had was a limousine, and the man who was waiting beside it was definitely a butler. Not only was he dressed in what had to be the most formal suit Donald had ever seen, but also he was standing way too straight to be normal. 

 

Compared to Scrooge, with his old coat and dusty top hat, the butler looked like the real lord of the house. And yet there was no doubt who was the master here. Scrooge moved his hand, flexing his fingers as if they were supposed to be around something, and nodded to the butler, who bowed in return. 

 

“Duckworth, these are the children. Donald and Della. Ye know what tae do.” The man nodded, his eyes opening slowly. Donald had once read the words ‘polite dismissiveness’ and couldn’t understand it properly. Now, seeing at the way the butler (Duckworth, his mind corrected itself) was looking at them, the meaning was clear. Why did the butler have to be just as unloving as their uncle? Maybe that was why Scrooge hired him in the first place. “Kids, this is Auguste Duckworth, my butler and most faithful servant. Anything you need, ask him.” Duckworth nodded, merely confirming his master’s words.

 

“It is, of course, an honor to serve you, young master Donald, young mistress Della.” He bowed, having already decided in his mind that they were worthy of his service or something. The whole thing felt way too solemn. Donald couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable. Judging by the way Della’s beak crumpled slightly, she felt the same way. Still, she  _ was  _ the more polite of the two.

 

“Nice… to meet you, Mr. Duckworth.” Della whispered, and Donald nodded fiercely, trying to seem eager without having to say a word. Duckworth seemed to take it as enough, for he bowed again and opened the door to the limo for them. It was only then that Donald realized-- Scrooge had already packed the suitcases in the trunk, again taking huge weights like they were nothing. How did he even  _ do _ that?

 

“Alright kids, time to go. Ye said yer goodbyes.” Scrooge said as soon as he closed the trunk, leaving Donald and Della to try and get inside the intimidating car, with some help from Duckworth, of course. Donald refused to look at their uncle in the eye. 

 

All he did was look at the window, seeing how grandma’s farm became smaller and smaller, while his dread only grew in size.

 

***

The car ride was silent.

 

Della tried at first, just a couple of questions, about life in the mansion, what Scrooge did for a living, things like that. But Donald knew it was useless, since the old duck didn’t reply to any of them, and so conversation quickly died out. 

 

Donald didn’t mind, not really. The longer he can go without speaking, the better. Scrooge hadn’t heard him back then, either, and he wanted it to stay that way. What if Uncle Scrooge just decided ‘well, I don’t want this one’ and sent him back to Grandma’s on his own just because he was a dumb boy who couldn’t speak properly? All he could do was squawk until Ma somehow got enough money to pay for some classes. And still.

 

He sounded like an idiot.

 

Della would say he was being dumb, that Uncle Scrooge wouldn’t care, but the fear ran too deep to be stopped by something like that soft-hearted reassurance. Donald didn’t know Scrooge. All he knew was that he had been terrible to Ma and Pa, and they were both great people who could  _ speak  _ and sound  _ normal  _ and not like a senseless bird yelling around. What could someone like Scrooge do to someone like Donald? So yeah, he was scared.  

 

Not only of Scrooge, though. Donald hated talking, period. Even though Ma took him to special talking classes that made him speak better, it still felt like dumb quacking no one could ever hope to understand. He only talked to family, and only if he liked them-- Gladstone being the only exception, as someone so lucky of course had perfect hearing and loved his own voice so much he did most of the talking anyway. Other than that, Donald refused to talk if he could help it. 

 

As a result, he learned sign language, but didn't like it either. It was just another way to feel like he didn't belong, so he only used it at school. If he absolutely needed to communicate something, Della did it for him.

 

And so he didn't talk. Even if Scrooge looked at him quizzically from time to time, Donald kept his beak shut.

 

The car ride was silent, but also very, very lonely.


End file.
